


Like A River Flows

by Cleonhart, cobalamincosel



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Morning After, but only mentioned in passing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25049122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleonhart/pseuds/Cleonhart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobalamincosel/pseuds/cobalamincosel
Summary: Waking comes suddenly to Johnny, his eyes flying open as his body jolts awake, his own internal body clock jumpstarting even when it’s supposed to be a Sunday and he doesn’t have to be anywhere today.In the three seconds it takes for him to come into consciousness, he takes stock of three things: one, his lower back is killing him; two: it’s 7:12 am; and, three: Mark Lee is still in his bed, curled up next to him.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 80
Kudos: 451





	Like A River Flows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cleonhart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleonhart/gifts).



> Dia went "I don't know if you're up to writing a Johnmark again, you can say no if you want" and I was like "?????? who do you think i am???????" and then they started talking about a morning-after fic and now we're here. They're technically co-creator but right now their settings don't allow for it so I gotta wait for them to wake up. but ya this for my boi dia. u da reallest.
> 
> I wrote this in 4 hours, and is completely unbetae'd. I like it when Dia's brain metaphorically gives birth to ideas and I am the doctor who delivers it. 
> 
> This fic is really just very... not exciting. But I hope you like it anyway. Cheers!
> 
> Title is from Elvis' Cant Help Fallin In Love
> 
>  **POD FIC HERE:** [PODFIC by moon_apple](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26241430%E2%80%9D%20rel=)

Waking comes suddenly to Johnny, his eyes flying open as his body jolts awake, his own internal body clock jumpstarting even when it’s supposed to be a Sunday and he doesn’t have to be anywhere today. 

In the three seconds it takes for him to come into consciousness, he takes stock of three things: one, his lower back is killing him; two: it is 7:12 am; and, three: Mark Lee is still in his bed, curled up next to him. 

Johnny’s mind races-- this is the first time that Mark’s been around when Johnny’s awoken, and the delight that he feels at seeing Mark still here spreads pleasantly through his body, superseding the ache in his thighs from last night’s… exertion. 

Johnny turns in bed, watching the dust dancing in the sunlight that falls over Mark’s serene face, so at ease now despite how he’d had his eyes screwed shut just last night while Johnny had fucked into him slow and deep. The memory makes Johnny shiver a bit, and he resists the urge to reach out and touch Mark, afraid to jostle him awake. 

It isn’t like this thing he has with Mark is a one-night stand situation, it’s just that they’ve never actually talked about what _this thing_ really is. Mark is Johnny’s favorite barista in his favorite little cafe just a ten-minute walk from his apartment, and it doesn’t even matter that Johnny’s got his own fancy espresso machine that had cost him an arm and a leg--Mark’s coffee is just that good. 

It certainly helps that he’s attracted to Mark in ways that Johnny can’t even explain. 

He’d decided to shoot his shot with Mark months ago, hanging back in the cafe long enough for Mark’s shift to finish, long enough for Mark’s customer service smile to slip from his face and have him warmly look up to where Johnny was once again standing at the counter where the drinks are served, long enough for Johnny to blurt out a, “Do you wanna grab some drinks with me?” 

So it has been that, on and off, for about three months now. The first time he’d taken Mark back to his place and Johnny had taken him straight into his room, their kisses tinged with beer, and the strawberry daiquiri Mark had somehow taken to almost immediately, there hadn’t been much room for conversation. Johnny had seen and felt how his hands had looked on Mark’s waist and he was a fucking goner, using his mouth on skin, teeth on Mark’s clavicle.

In the morning, Mark’s side of the bed had been cold, and Johnny had woken up with a mild headache and a text that just said, “Thanks for last night dude!” like they’d gone out to see a game instead of having had what had been, at the time, the best sex Johnny had ever had. 

When Johnny had gone back to the cafe, he’d been worried that something would have shifted between them, but Mark had looked up from the register with a bright smile on his face and a, “What’ll it be, Johnny? Americano or the Espresso Macchiato?” and Johnny had figured to himself, hey, they’re alright. 

So it went, a series of sporadic “Hey, do you wanna grab a drink?”s and Mark going home with him, and hushed “God, Johnny, you’re so fucking hot,” and soft kisses on Johnny’s tattoos, these small noises escaping Mark every time Johnny got his hands on Mark’s ass, or his cock, or his cheeks, or his lips, and in the morning, it had been like a reset button, like Johnny had dreamed him up, but Johnny always had the hickeys on his neck and the scratches down his back to remind him how very real his nights had been. 

Mark makes a small sound in his sleep, his hand coming to his face, his pinky rubbing the tip of his nose, his lips mouthing something Johnny can’t make out. He’s curled in on himself, angled towards Johnny, his blanket barely covering Mark’s lower half, his thigh slung over one of Johnny’s pillows. 

God, Johnny doesn’t want him to leave, ever. 

He contemplates pulling out one of his cameras, maybe one of the disposable film ones, to capture Mark exactly as he is right now: beautiful, his dark hair in soft waves over his forehead, his bottom lip jutting out, plump like a cherry, his chest rising and falling in the muted morning sun through Johnny’s curtains, but decides against it. They aren’t there yet. 

Johnny sighs softly to himself as he makes to slide out of bed as quietly as possible, worried that when Mark does wake, he’ll scramble to leave. He manages to get up, bare feet hitting the cool wooden floor without making a sound, making sure to avoid the one panel that Johnny knows will creak when stepped on. He has his phone in hand, and he’s glad that they hadn’t even gotten around to closing his bedroom door in their haste to get undressed, making his escape out of his room a simple matter. 

He finds his boxers, pulls them on, and closes the door behind him, but leaves it ajar, just so that he can muffle the noises from the kitchen. 

He’s got no idea how he’s going to pull off getting Mark to not balk, but he figures that maybe bribing him with breakfast would be an okay start. 

Or he could really just like, talk to Mark, but Johnny’s kind of chickenshit, kind of worried that he’s reading into things too much, kind of worried that maybe Mark tracing a finger over the ‘0802’ that Johnny has inked on his bicep--his mother’s birthday-- and Mark kissing it and saying, “Hey, that’s my birthday too!” doesn’t actually mean anything more than Mark stating a fact. 

He washes his hands, towels them off, and pulls out bagels and cream cheese, and the bacon he’d miraculously remembered to let defrost out from the fridge, glad that he’d remembered Mark going on and on about how much he liked Canadian bacon when he’d gone to Target last. 

He gets to work as quietly as he can, slicing open the back of cured meat and gently laying a couple of pieces on the frying pan, though the sizzle rings through the kitchen, and at this point, Johnny’s pretty sure that that’s thrown his attempts at silence down the shitter. 

True enough, the door to Johnny’s room is wrenched open, a bleary-eyed Mark Lee standing at his doorway in nothing but his tiny black boxer briefs, mostly in part because the rest of Mark’s clothing had been cast off at Johnny’s front door, his jeans on the ground next to his wallet. 

“Oh my God,” Mark says, now that sleep has finally seemed to have left his eyes. Johnny watches him, amused, as Mark covers his nipples with both his hands. Johnny can see the panic that starts to take over Mark’s face, and figures he has to think fast if he doesn’t want Mark to balk like a caught deer. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry I overstayed--”

“How do you like your eggs?” Johnny interrupts, throwing out the first question he can think of to salvage this. 

Mark blinks at him. “What?”

Johnny heads over to the couch where he’d folded his laundry yesterday before heading out, grabbing the first shirt he feels for, and walking over to Mark to hand it to him. 

Mark looks up at him, these huge, huge eyes, and Johnny feels it again, the tug in his belly that he’d felt last night when Mark had cradled Johnny’s jaw in his hands and kissed him. Something more than just longing, something deeper than just a base carnal want. 

“Put this on, you’re gonna get cold,” Johnny says softly, and quickly makes his way back to the kitchen, the bacon just about done, sizzling it its own fat. 

When Johnny turns around from the stove to plate the first batch, Mark’s already walking over to the counter where he can peer into the kitchen, Johnny’s shirt hanging off of him, the collar too worn and too wide, Mark’s bruised clavicles and his left shoulder peeking out. Johnny has to swallow his saliva to make his throat work again. 

Mark watches him work curiously, his lower lip caught between his teeth. 

“How do you like your eggs, Mark?” Johnny repeats, pulling out the tray of eggs from the fridge. 

“Uh,” Mark begins. Johnny smiles to himself. “I like them sunny side down.”

Johnny stares at him momentarily, egg in his hand. “I’m sorry, what?”

“That’s how I like them,” Mark says with a small smile. 

“Wait but like--hold on, you said down,” Johnny clarifies. “Like, what does that… even mean.”

Mark raises himself on his elbows, leaning on the counter. "Dude you know like, how sunny side up is yolk up? You know? Sunny-side down is... like... down..."

 _Oh my fucking God_ , Johnny thinks. _Over-easy. Mark means he likes his eggs over easy._

Johnny is filled with so much affection at this moment that he nearly drops the egg in his hand, only remembering at the last minute to catch himself and rest it gently on the counter before he rushes to Mark’s side, cupping Mark’s face in his hands and making Mark’s cheeks kind of squish up. 

There’s no hesitation in how Johnny leans down and presses his lips to Mark’s, and the thrill that Mark responds to it instantly makes pleasure and joy zing through Johnny’s body. Mark’s lips are a little dry, but it’s no matter when Johnny slides his own against them, worrying Mark’s bottom lip between his teeth, his tongue pressing on it gently before they pull away with a soft sigh. 

Mark looks dazed when Johnny pulls away, obviously not expecting it, but looking pleased nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry--I--I should have asked--” Johnny attempts, but is interrupted almost immediately. Mark pulls Johnny in again with a hand behind Johnny’s neck, Mark sitting up higher on the tall seat he’s on, Johnny stepping in between his spread knees to bring Mark’s body up flush against Johnny’s bare torso, the softest moan escaping Mark’s mouth as Johnny’s tongue reacquaints itself with the roof of Mark’s mouth. 

When their kiss breaks a second time, Johnny rests his temple against Mark’s own, and whispers, “I’d love for you to stay for breakfast if it’s something that you want.” 

Mark’s grip on Johnny’s neck tightens, and then he’s pulling back to look into Johnny’s eyes, his lips quirked up in a half-smile, the words, “Dude, okay, I’ll stay,” the sweetest music to Johnny’s ears. 

Johnny runs his thumb over the apple of Mark’s cheek before stepping back and finding his way back to the stove to work on their eggs. He knows that this is only one part of it, that he needs to actually seriously ask Mark what this thing is that they’re doing, and maybe make it clear that Johnny wants something more long-term with him, but for now, he sets himself to the task, and figures that they can take it slow. 

“Would you mind being the DJ for this morning?” Johnny asks over his shoulder, his hands busy with finishing up the second batch of bacon. 

“Sure, are your speakers the Bose ones?” Mark asks, looking at his phone, no doubt looking through his Bluetooth settings. 

“Yeah, those are the ones,” Johnny replies, and in a few seconds, they’ve got Martini Blue filtering through his apartment, Mark’s head bopping along. 

Johnny’s just about to crack open the eggs on the pan when he feels Mark step behind him. 

“I cannot believe you have an actual De’Longhi in your apartment,” Mark says, looking at the espresso machine that Johnny had invested in a year ago. “Why do you even come to the cafe if you have one of these?” 

“I happen to like the coffee at Estrell’s, I’ll have you know,” Johnny says as he cracks the egg with one hand, lowering the heat now that the butter’s melted through. “They’ve got a barista there that I happen to like, as well. Dunno if you know him. Name’s Mark, kind of goofy, kind of really cute.” 

It’s a gamble, his throwaway lines, but when Johnny feels arms wrap around his torso, and a warm cheek on his back, he figures he’s hit the jackpot. 

“Shut up,” Mark laughs into his skin, his nose cold where he rubs it between Johnny’s shoulder blades. “God. What the fuck.” 

“What?” Johnny asks, his left hand resting lightly on the hands folded over his belly. “Too much?” 

“Unexpected, more like,” Mark replies. “Didn’t know you liked me that way.” 

“Oh? I thought the three orgasms I gave you last night were kind of an indication,” Johnny laughs, a lightness in his chest bubbling up as he toes the boundaries of whatever this is, or whatever this could be. 

“You’re so--God,” Mark breaks off, burying his face in Johnny’s back. “I like you, in case that isn’t clear.” 

“I’d been getting mixed signals, with the sneaking off in the mornings,” Johnny teases softly, working the silicon spatula to gently flip the egg in the non-stick pan. “But right now’s clueing me in.” 

Mark pulls away, pressing a kiss to Johnny’s shoulder before saying, “Let me make you coffee.” 

Johnny thinks he starts falling just a tiny bit in love right then and there. 

Mark moves like he does in the coffee shop, practiced motions as he acquaints himself with Johnny’s espresso machine; but more than that, Mark moves like he was meant to be here, padding around in Johnny’s oversized shirt and tiny boxers and bare feet while Johnny finishes making his second sunny-side down egg for Mark. 

With a small spark of hope, Johnny wonders if Mark would be happy with that. 

“Here you go,” Mark says, handing Johnny his massive yellow mug, the latte art showing a nice little leaf in the foamy ocean of milk that rests on top. “It’s on the house,” Mark adds with a wink. 

Johnny hazards a small sip, the heat still suffusing through the porcelain, and it's so good, even if he doesn’t have the same milk they have at the cafe. 

“Perfect,” Johnny says, setting the mug down carefully and bringing Mark in closer for another kiss, now that they seem to be on the table and free for the taking. Mark licks off the foam from the top of Johnny’s lip just as a song with soft guitar accompaniment begins playing, and Mark freezes in Johnny’s arms before jumping out to try and grab his phone. 

Johnny moves quickly, squishing himself between Mark and the counter, Mark’s phone out of reach while Mark’s singing fills the room with warmth. 

“Markie,” Johnny says, unable to keep the wonder from his voice while the song plays, and Mark has his face pressed to Johnny’s chest. “This is so, so good.” 

“No it isn’t, come on,” Mark says, a blush visible on his neck. “It’s not good.” 

“There is so, so much I want to know about you, do you know that?” Johnny asks gently, releasing his hold on Mark’s phone in order to slot his hands on Mark’s waist, cinching the shirt around Mark’s body while Mark avoids Johnny’s gaze. 

“I’m really boring, Johnny,” Mark says, making Johnny huff out a breath through his nose. 

“Let me be the judge of that, Markie,” Johnny says, nosing at Mark’s temple as the song continues to play, just Mark’s raw vocals and the acoustic guitar he’d once told Johnny about. Mark relaxes in his arms, Mark’s hands warm on the small of Johnny’s back. 

“Suit yourself,” Mark says, and pulls back to smile up at Johnny. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

They spend the rest of the morning slow and easy, building themselves breakfast bagels and sipping on their coffee as they sit on the floor across from each other at Johnny’s coffee table, and Johnny learns more about Mark in the next couple of hours than he has in all the time they’ve gone out to drink and fuck. 

He learns that Mark is a reformed nail-biter, as evidenced by the now-neatly trimmed nails on his hands; that Mark’s kept every single guitar pick and string he’s ever had, even the broken ones in a small wooden box, and that he’s just incapable of parting with them. “They all built up to me today you know?” Mark had said. Johnny had nodded, completely enthralled. 

When they finish breakfast, Johnny asks if Mark has any plans for the day, and with a fond roll of his eyes and a fake put-upon tone, he says, “I guess I can stay since you asked _so_ nicely.” 

They shower together, Johnny lathering soap into Mark’s hair while Mark spends the entirety of the bath talking to him about how he believes in ghosts, and later, Johnny pulls out one of those hotel toothbrushes that he loves to collect whenever he and his family fly out for their annual summer trips, and he and Mark brush their teeth side by side at Johnny’s bathroom sink.

They end up sprawled on Johnny’s bed once again, Mark sprawled out over Johnny’s torso, his leg slung over Johnny’s thigh, his fingers tracing over all of Johnny’s tattoos while he mouths at Johnny’s lobe piercing after telling Johnny how he’s afraid to get either, wondering how Johnny had withstood the pain. 

Conversation begins to taper off when Mark gets his mouth on Johnny’s nipple, and Johnny’s tenting his boxers in record time, his hips fucking up into Mark’s hand as he palms Johnny’s cock, and they end up on their side, Johnny spooning Mark close after Mark takes a handful of lube between his thighs for Johnny to fuck into, languid and slow, his ass still too sensitive from last night for them to do anything else. 

When Johnny strokes Mark in time with his thrusts, Mark biting down on Johnny’s forearm where it is snug under his neck, and Mark spills hot and wet over Johnny’s hand, Mark presses his thighs as close together as possible, and it becomes almost as tight as Mark’s hole had been, making Johnny finish messy and satisfying before Mark’s hand finds its way between his legs to keep rubbing at Johnny’s cock head while Johnny gasps against Mark’s neck. 

Mark turns over in bed to face him, and Johnny is so dazed from his orgasm that he almost misses Mark’s “Was that good for you?” before Johnny is kissing him again, and his entire body feels boneless and sated. 

“So good, Markie,” Johnny slurs. “So good to me.” 

Johnny’s last lucid thought as Mark’s fingers card through his hair and sleep pulls the both of them under, is that he could very well get used to this: waking up in the mornings, making Mark his sunny-side down eggs, listening to Mark talk about ghosts. 

Mark wiggles in closer, his head tucked under Johnny’s chin, breath hot on Johnny’s chest. 

“I could get used to this too, Johnny,” Mark whispers, almost like he hadn’t meant for Johnny to hear. 

Johnny smiles with his eyes closed, fingers in Mark’s hair before stroking down along Mark’s spine. 

“Glad to hear we’re on the same page, Markie,” Johnny says, and drifts off. 

**Author's Note:**

> Dia had a big hand in shaping the characters of this story, so they gave me a buncha stuff that I worked into the fic:
> 
> 1\. It was Dia's little anecdote about how they used to call eggs over easy "sunny-side down" eggs when they were a kid. They suggested it would Very Mark Lee to say this, and they were right! 
> 
> 2\. They suggested that Mark wakes up and Johnny's like "Oh god" because he sees in Mark's face that Mark is like... "oh shittttt I'm still here" and Johny blurts out "how do you like your eggs??" to kind of buy time so that Mark's convinced to stay. 
> 
> 3\. Mark being in Johnny's oversized shirt with all Mark's hickeys showing.
> 
> 4\. Neck kisses!
> 
> 5\. Johnny being a photographer
> 
> 6\. Mark being Johnny's favorite barista, and the joke about it being on the house!
> 
> 7\. Johnny letting Mark set the tunes while they both hum along to music they love
> 
> 8\. One of Mark's songs playing, and Johnny telling him it's so good
> 
> 9\. Johnny finding more about Mark in this one morning than all the other nights they've gone out anf fooled around
> 
> 10\. Thigh-fucking!!!
> 
> 11\. Reformed nail-biter Mark, keeping every pick and string he's ever broken
> 
> 12\. Mark being afraid of getting piercings and tattoos, and being in love with Johnny's
> 
> 13\. Johnny's mom's birthday being tattooed on Johnny, and Mark being like "Oh that's my birthday too!"
> 
> When I say this fic wouldn't have existed without Dia, I am quite serious. 😛
> 
> -
> 
> Find us at: [M twt](https://twitter.com/johnnyseo_paws) and [Dia twt](https://twitter.com/neocleontech)


End file.
